


For Cersei

by House_of_the_Lion



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Beautiful Golden Fools, Episode: s08e05 The Bells, F/M, Post-Episode: s08e05 The Bells, Songfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-15
Updated: 2020-08-15
Packaged: 2021-03-06 07:33:48
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25789645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/House_of_the_Lion/pseuds/House_of_the_Lion
Summary: While the world's collapsing around them, nothing else matters... Only them...
Relationships: Cersei Lannister/Jaime Lannister
Comments: 20
Kudos: 19





	For Cersei

**Author's Note:**

> The songs whose lyrics are used are :  
> • Carol of the Bells (first lyrics)  
> •[Wicked Game - Chris Isaak (second and third lyrics)](https://youtu.be/aid2vMbCNP8)  
> •[Video Games - Lana Del Rey (fourth and last lyrics) ](https://youtu.be/cE6wxDqdOV0)  
> •[ Only Us - Miracle of Sound & Karliene (all the rest of the lyrics)](https://youtu.be/GlkgmdYxiuM)  
> _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _ _  
> While you're reading, I advise you to listen :  
> •[Atonement - Ramin Djawadi](https://youtu.be/7qa8ltppVrs)  
> •[The Bells - Ramin Djawadi](https://youtu.be/SIuJr5kuesk)  
> •[For Cersei - Ramin Djawadi](https://youtu.be/KbW6iGj3xKU)  
> •[Nothing Else Matters - Ramin Djawadi](https://youtu.be/2_0CwPFm0-M)  
> •[Cersei & Jaime | Reorchestrated - Kyle Preston](https://youtu.be/mGTBG32BZMI)  
> •[The Rains of Castamere - Ramin Djawadi & Serj Tankian](https://youtu.be/tlkgbwmN9mQ)
> 
> All Game of Thrones belong to GRR Martin and DB & DW
> 
> Enjoy reading !

_**Hark how the bells, sweet silver bells...** _

* * *

''The bells !''

''Ring the bells !''

''Ring the bells !''

''The bells !''

People were screaming. From their windows, their balconies, or even from the street, for those who had either the temerity or the obligation to go out into the dark alleys of Flea Bottom or the wide streets of the richer neighborhoods. They shouted towards the Red Keep, as if they knew that Cersei could hear them from her window, which dominated the whole capital, and that they hoped that she would then give the order to ring those cursed bells, announcing the surrender of the city. Her defeat. But there was no question of the Queen ordering anything. The bells have been ringing throughout the worst moments of her life, and there was no way this battle could been part of it.

_The bells had rung when her little brother Tyrion was born, robbing their mother of her life. And they rang again when Lady Joanna was buried a few days later._

_The bells had rung when she was sold like a broodmare to Robert Baratheon in the Great Sept of Baelor. They had rung in all the Seven Kingdoms to celebrate the royal union, and they were still ringing when her new lord and master crashed upon her that night, totally drunk, and blew in her ear, stinking of wine, the name of his late lover._

_The bells had rung when her first little boy had died, by an illness that could not be cured in time. And they continued to ring when a whole set of septas dressed in grey from head to toe had taken him away from her forever, into the depths of the crypts of the Red Keep._

_The bells had rung when her only daughter, Myrcella, was sent by ship to Dorne, because of the little counterfeit imp that served as her brother. They had continued to ring when the princess cried, not wanting to be taken away from her mother as a child, not knowing that she would never see her again. Without knowing how much Cersei loved her and that she was even more unhappy than she was, if that was possible._

_The bells had rung when her eldest, Joffrey, married the Highgarden whore, Margaery Tyrell. And they ahd rang again, only hours later, when her beloved son breathed his last, lying in her arms, poisoned by the Queen of Thorns._

_The bells had rung when her youngest son, her sweet little Tommen, had replaced his brother on the Iron Throne. She had been sickened by it, knowing that her little lion cub would never be safe again, in the midst of the vultures of King's Landing who, sharpened, would be ready to skin him at the slightest opportunity._

_The bells had rung when her brother, accused of Joffrey's murder and condemned to death, fled from his cell and killed their father with a crossbow tile stuck in his groin. And they had rang a few hours later, when the procession carrying the body of the great Lord Tywin Lannister set out to join the Great Sept of Baelor._

_The bells had rung when the new King, in turn, married Margaery. When he kissed her, taken under his protectio, which clearly meant that he no longer needed his mother's protection. When she had lost all her babies._

_The bells had rung, agitated by septas, when Cersei had been forced to walk with her hair cut off, with only her dignity as clothing, while one of the shrews accompanying her reapeated ''Shame'' behind her back with each jingle. And they had continued ringing all the way from the Sept of Baelor to the Red Keep, when her pride was gradually slipping away, finally leaving her completely naked, while people wounded her, bruised her by throwing anything they could get their hands on. Those people who had then see for the very first time the diamonds of her tears leaving the emeralds of her eyes._

_The bells had rung when the boat bringing Jaime and Myrcella back from Dorne docked at King's Landing. They were still ringing when Cersei saw her twin brother standing alone next to a sharp covered with a golden sheet. A golden shroud. And they rang again when they buried her golden princess without her, confined to her chambers in the Red Keep, having the chance to see the woman her little darling had become._

_The bells had rung the morning her trial was supposed to take place. It should have been a joy, one of the best moments of her life, to see all her enemies burn in the wildfire, a fire the same color as her irises, which they had taken a malicious pleasure in seeing fill with tears, to tarnish themselves. But it was not. A few hours later, the bells rang again, to announce the death of the King. The death of her little boy, who had taken his own life by doing what she would have done if her three little cubs had not been there. Throwing herself out of the window of the highest tower of the Red Keep. Her little prince, whose only sin was to have been kinf, naive, and to have fallen in love._

_The bells had rung when she had taken her place on the Iron Throne, before all the notables of King's Landing. What those people didn't know was that bells were ringing for death. The death of the Cersei before. The Cersei that the last bit of life in her had left just as the body of her youngest son crashed to the ground in front of the Red Keep._

And now the people were screaming for the bells to ring, once again, saving them all from death. But they might as well have sound the death knell directly, because if the bells rang, they would definitely sign the Queen's death warrant.

She watched for a while longer as the silver-haired whore burned the city walls with the help of her monster. Then she closed her eyes for a brief moment when, in the distance, the bell rang, followed by many others. A fraction of a second later and all the bells of the city were ringing.

They were ringing. They were ringing for defeat. They were ringing for failure. They were ringing Cersei's death sentence.

And, like the diamonds that had left her emeralds in the midst of the crowd that had come to see her Walk of Shame, two tears formed at the corners of her eyes, and left hem, gently tracing their furrows on her soft, pale cheeks. But this time, no one was there to see them.

* * *

_**The world was on fire and no one can save me but you...** _

* * *

For forty-five years, we had been singing ''The Rains of Castamere''. But the last survivors of this horror would sing for centuries to come ''The Rains of King's Landing''.

It was death raining down on the city, flooding streets with fire and blood. Stones would crash on the cobblestones as brutally and noisily as lightning when it fell, while ashes would settle as softly and silently as snowflakes.

Despite the bells that had rung, despite Cersei's forced surrender, the Targaryen had destroyed the city. Hundreds of thousands of innocent people had been massacred, she who was advocating their freedom. The _breaker of chain_ , as people liked to call her. The breaker of chain who had chained them to her fate, thinking that taking their lives was a necessary evil to gain power. That their deaths had to be part of the equation to ensure the Dragon's victory over the Lioness. And now that this carnage had unfolded right before her eyes, Cersei couldn't help but continue to contemplate the scene, thinking of Tyrion.

Tyrion, who had believed so strongly in the ideology of the Mad King's daughter, in the new era she wanted to usher in. But she wasn't like her father, no. She wasn't crazy, she... Apparently, when the gods toss the coin at her birth, she landed on the right side. She was going to be queen of a kingdom that would evolve in unbroken harmony. When she had heard this, Cersei had almost to choke on her wine, so ludicrous had the idea been. There was no such thing as perfect harmony. Not in this world, where the little ones served as pawns for the big ones in their endless game of thrones. If she thought she could break the wheel that had been turning for millenia, long before the Andals conquered Westeros, she was sadly mistaken. And if she absolutely wanted to reign in total peace, perhaps she shouldn't have started by reducing the capital of the kingdom she coveted and its population to ashes. That would get her nowhere, except to invite the few survivors to hate her far more than they ever could have imagined hating Cersei.

Because of Baelor, Cersei was nicknamed the _Mad Queen_ by the common people. Aerys Targaryen was nicknamed the _Mad King_ because of his last order, his last litany. _Burn them all._ How would they call her, the one who not only gave the order, but burned all of them, innocents, when she could have come directly to Cersei to settle their accounts, without any civilian suffering as a result ? The one who had brought into the city thousands of savages who had killed, raped, massacred and plundered more than one of them ?

Daenerys Targaryen had begun to attack on the castle. Whole towers were falling from it, and would crash down the Aegon Hill, killing all those who had the misfortune to be here, in the wrong place at the wrong time. A stone even fell into the room where Cersei was, shattering a glass in its fall. She felt a shiver of panic run down her spine. The Red Keep had never fallen. It wasn't going to do it today, was it ?

The Queen was interrupted in her thoughts by Qyburn, her Hand :

''Your Grace in no longer safe here.''

New tears rolled down Cersei's cheeks. Without turning around, so that her dismay would not be visible to her interlocutor, she replied :

''The Red Keep is the safest place in this city.''

''The Unsullied have forced the portal. Maegor's Holdfast would be far better suited to protect you until things settle down.''

Cersei remembered that it was Qyburn she was talking to. From the moment they met, he'd been totally devoted, loyal and faithful to her. He'd been there when she lost everything. He had come to see her to give her news from the Red Keep when those filthy sparrows of the Militant Faith that she herself had rearmed had shamelessly thrown her into a cell. He had been there when she return defiled and humiliated after her atonement, welcoming her with a miraculously revived Ser Gregor Clegane. He had seen her at the very bottom of her decay. He had greatly helped her in the explosion of the Great Sept, when it was declared by her own son that trials by combat would henceforth be forbidden, whereas she had intended to request one for the trial brought against her by the High Sparrow, by providing her with valuable informations. It was he who had presented her with the remains of her last chils. He had crowned her, she had made her Hand of the Queen as a token of thanks for his good and loyal service. It was he who had announced her pregnancy, unexpected, unhoped-for, at her age. And it was he who had succeeded in detecting and reproducing the poison that had been used to kill Myrcella, as well as its antidote, to enable to avenge her daughter.

If there was only one person in this world she could trust, it was Qyburn. Before, if she had been asked this question, she would have answered ''Jaime'' without hesitation. But now that her castle, her city, her kingdom, her world was on fire, and she needed him, Jaime, _her_ Jaime more than ever, he was gone. He was gone. He'd left her, abandoned her. That thought brought new tears to her eyes.

But Qyburn was still there. And that's what made her turn to him, accept his hand, clinging to him with all her might, which she always did when she was afraid, even though no one but Jaime knew. For the first time, she had put her life in the hands of someone other than her twin brother.

* * *

_**It's strange what desire make foolish people do...** _

* * *

Jaime was running.

He hadn't stopped doing that since Tyrion had freed him from the prison into which the Unsullied had thrown him. He was running. He was running, because that's what Tyrion begged him to do. He begged him to run to the Red Keep, get Cersei out and ring the bells, so there'd be no slaughter. To stop Daenerys from taking the city by fire and blood. So Jaime listened to him. And he ran. He ran down the streets of King's Landing, running at full speed, swept away by the crowd that rushed to the castle in hopes of the protection of its walls. But the gates of the castle had closed right under his nose, preventing thousands of people from being able to retreat there. And stopping Jaime from getting through to get to Cersei.

So he had gotten it into his head to go around the city by the quays by the sea, and to enter the Red Keep by the entrance that Tyrion had described to him.

If he had been afraid when Daenerys had begun to burn King's Landing, it was impossible to describe the haunting fear he felt now that she had set out to destroy the castle itself. Cersei was still inside. Every extra second she spent inside was another second her life was at stake. At any moment, she could end up crushed by a pile of rubble, or burned by the dragon, or other awful things that Jaime didn't want to think about.

The only thing he was thinking about was _her_.

Her emerald eyes, in which seemed to burn a flame, a green flame, a flame of wildfire. A flame that hadn't stopped fading since the death of her first son, Robert's son. Even though she had never wanted a child from this pig, her maternal instinct had taken over and she couldn't help but love him and want to protect him from the second he was put in her arms, all red and screaming from the moment he was born. And his death, a few weeks later, had hit her irreversibly. She had spent days and nights crying in Jaime's arms, and he had spent those days and nights just holding her and cuddling her, trying to give her the comfort that she had come to him for.

Then there was Joffrey. Joffrey, who had been born with golden blond hair and emerald green eyes, who was a lovely baby. Difficult, but adorable, always seeking the attention of those around him, especially his mother and father. But if Cersei had given him all the attention he wanted without hesitation, even refusing to entrust him to a nanny, Robert had completely lost interest. He had already had several children, and his natural sons and daughters offered him smiles and laughs when he took them in his arms. While Joffrey was crying, and seemed to be satisfied only in his mother's arms, the only place where he calmed down and stopped screaming. Joffrey had grown up without his father's consideration or attention, and his father often belittled him, reminding him every time he didn't succeed at first. How much his elder brother, who had died early, with black hair and blue eyes, would have succeeded. It had hurt Jaime, to see his son so unloved by the man he thought was his father, without being able to do anything to help him. And Robert was dead. Joffrey had become king, a horrible, sadistic and cruel king, but he was still his son, and Cersei's son, their flesh and blood. And he, too, was dead.

Most people said that Cersei's descent into hell had begun with the Walk of Shame. But Jaime knew thay were wrong, all of them, as much as they were. Cersei's descent into hell didn't begin with tha fucking atonement. It began with Joffrey's death. The way her eyes had blurred, shadows dancing among the flames. And she'd been even more broken by what'd happened in the Sept, near to the body of her boy. Jaime didn't know if Cersei had forgiven him. He, in any case, would never forgive himself. He had dared to insult her, to defile her, to break her even more, this woman he loved, whom he had loved and would always love. He had dared to rape her because of his own selfish desire, when the only thing she sought from him was comfort, and justice for the one she thought was guilty. This only accelerated her destruction. And the imprisonment and Walk of Shame she had to endure had not helped. And then there was Myrcella. And Baelor.

People were convinced she'd gone mad, the _Mad Queen_ , blowing up part of King's Landing, But not Jaime. Again, when people didn't know, Jaime knew. She hadn't done it because she liked it, or even because she wanted revenge on the High Sparrow and the Tyrells. She did it to save her own skin.

Jaime had always thought that Tyrion and Cersei were survivors, in a world that wasn't going to be kind to them, Tyrion because of his size and deformity and Cersei because of his gender. Only, if Tyrion had compensated for this by wearing this difference as armor, Cersei had never been able to rise above it, and hid behind the cruelty. She had become extremely protective of the only people she cared about, Jaime and her children. If she had fought body and soul to protect them from the slightest danger, it was only because no one would do it in her place, at least not for Joffrey, Myrcella and Tommen. And the charges for her trial had been so overwhelming that it would inevitably have resulted in a death sentence. Even though Joffrey and Myrcella had already left, Tommen was still there, alone, on his Iron Throne. He was already terribly influenced by the High Sparrow and the Tyrells, so much so that he had banned trials by combat, unconsciously depriving his mother of the only chance she had of getting out of this hell alive and without a myriad of collateral casualties. So Cersei had done without hesitation what allowed her to stay alive to protect her last cub, her last lion cub. She had blown up the Great Sept of Baelor. And had she thought it would cost her her last son, she would never, ever have done so. Jaime knew she'd rather have died a thousand times than see one of her children die.

But Tommen was dead, and Cersei was alive. The Iron Throne was rightfully hers.

Jaime had always thought the day of his sister's coronation would be a day when she would shine. She would be dressed in gold and scarlet, an imperceptible smile on her crimson lips and great flames of wildfire burning in her eyes.

Instead, she was austere, cold. Her golden crown, her crown of glory, had been ransacked by the sparrows. The scarlett of the blood that had been shed that day invisibly stained on her hands, and the wildfire no longer burned in her eyes, but continued to burn on Visenya Hill. And Jaime had never seen her eyes so veiled, with so many shadows in them, as when she had sat on that cursed scrap metal chair, taking the place that Tommen had occupied the day before.

And, when Jaime had thought that he would never succeed in rekindling the flame in her emerald irises, the good news had arrived, unexpected , unhoped-for. She was pregnant. A new lion cub to love, to protect. But with the news of the arrival of this little miracle, this gift from the gods, came the news of the arrival of the White Walkers. The arrival of death. And all had tried to convince her of the danger. And she had seen it, the danger, she was neither stupid nor blind. But she had also seen Daenerys coming, and the danger that the aspiring queen embodied. Danger that neither Tyrion nor Jaime nor Jon Snow had seen. And that is why she flatly refused to send her armies north. And Jaime couldn't understand why she wouldn't contribute to the battle of life against death. And he had left her, left her alone in a battle that, for her, was all the same. Either she was fighting against the White Walkers, the very embodiment of death, of desolation, or she was fighting against Daenerys, who with her dragons brought fire, blood and death. And Jaime didn't see it that way. But now that Daenerys was burning the city, the Red Keep, and the Lannister army, he understood.

 _Anyone who isn't us is our enemy._ Cersei said that all the time. And she was right. Like when she said that he was the stupidest Lannister. It was she, the smartest, the most worthy heir to Tywin Lannister. She was the only one with the foresight to see the true nature of Daenerys. Just as she had been right to send Bronn to kill him. Not only did he deserve to die a thousand times for abandoning her when she needed him the most, but for not listening to her or trusting her judgment.

But as soon as he knew what Daenerys was planning to do after the victory over the White Walkers, he came running back to her. Surely, there had been Brienne, and he could have lived happily with her. But his love for her was nothing compared to the fire that burned between him and Cersei. Not even a hundred of Brienne of Tarth would have been worth his twin. And that's why he returned to his sister.

He wasn't sure she'd want to see him again, and she'd have every reason not to, but he hoped she'd be happy, or, at least, relieved, and still trust enough to put her life in his hands and let him get her out of there.

After all, the greatest battles aren't the ones we wage against our enemies. The greatest battles are those we wage for those we love. Cersei had always been the one he fought all his battles for. It was for her and their baby he had gone north to fight the White Walkers, and it was for her and their baby that he was coming back now, running through the flames and the dead bodies and the rubble. Running through death.

_For Cersei._

Olenna Tyrell once told him that Cersei would be his death. It made sense, Jaime thought. Cersei had been his everything, his half, his lover, his best friend, his love, his whole life. It was only fitting that she would be his death too.

* * *

_**It's you, it's you, it's all for you, everything I do...** _

* * *

As Jaime got closer to the Red Keep, his anxiety grew.

Now it was no longer stones falling from the building, but sections of walls, towers, entire roofs crashing to the ground. The thought that Cersei might be in one of the towers that had already collapsed made him sick, but he couldn't help thinking about it. It motivated him to go faster, to pick up the pace. The faster he hurried, the better chane he had of finding her alive, of getting her safely out of the city. He hoped she had at least had the good sense, smart as she was, to take refuge in the Maegor's Holdfast, as she done during the Battle of Blackwater.

He'd almost reached the cove that Tyrion had pointed out to him. He climbed the few rocks that blocked his way, scraping his golden hand against stone, advanced on the wet sand, waded through the salt water, and then started again.

He was out of breath when he finally saw the entrance, and the canoe promised by his brother. Now that the Iron Fleet had been decimated, it would be much easier to get out of Blackwater Bay and into one of the free cities of Essos.

He was about to enter the underground, when he heard the waves breaking, revealing a black shape coming out of the water. Euron Greyjoy.

''The Kingslayer...''. A sly smile streched the pirate's chapped lips.

''We must get the Queen out of King's Landing.''

Cersei, Cersei, Cersei. It was all for Cersei. For both of them. But not for the same reasons.

Euron wanted Cersei because she was in possession of the Iron Throne. Because she could give him power, and she promised to marry him when the war was over and won, if the Iron Fleet rallied to the Crown. The fact that she was beautiful and perfectly fuckable was a plus, an extra.

Jaime wanted Cersei because she was all he ever wanted. Because he wanted to live with fr, to die with her. To hold their baby with her. He loved her, he adored her, and he absolutely wanted to save her.

Even though Jaime knew full well that it wasn't for the same reasons that he and Euron wanted Cersei alive, he couldn't help but hope that he would help him to get her out.

His hopes were dashed when the smirk was replaced by a a psychotic smile on Euron's face.

''Listen... That's the sound of a city dying. It's over...''

And he was right. King's Landing was dying. But Jaime wasn't going to give up. He would know that, if Cersei was dead, he had to. She had no right to leave without him. They had come into this world together, and theu ould leave it together. He certainly wasn't go to stop looking fr her and trying to save her just because some pirate who had been badly crippled after his fleet burned down no longer believed in it. Jaime believed, and that was all that mattered.

''Maybe for you...''

And he heard the sound of a sword drawn from its scabbard.

''If you assassinate another king before you die, your story will be sung through the centuries.''

''You are not a king.''

Euron walked towards Jaime, sword in his right hand, his demented smile still hanging from his lips.

''Oh yes, I am King...'' His smile widens even more ''… and I fucked the Queen. If I'm victorious, I'll bring your head to Cersei so she can kiss you one last time.''

It was too much for Jaime. Being forced to think of all that slimy, stinking kraken had done to his Cersei drove him mad. He rushed at Euron, drawing in his turn, and they began to fight, with their fists and feet as well as their swords and weapons.

Jaime suddenly felt a searing pain run through his guts. Euron had just stuck his sword in his belly, causing him to bleed heavily. But he had to keep fighting. He had no right to give up. He had no right to die. Not without Cersei, or, at least, not without making sure she was safe. He just couldn't. So he kept fighting, until they both ended up lying in the sand, wet with seawater and blood.

''You fought well... For a cripple...''

At these words, Jaime forced himself to rise, weakened by the wound inflicted by his foul opponent and the severe blood loos, and turned to Euron, who did the same, stabbing him in the stomach with his sword. Euron fell to his knees, still arrogant, still smiling.

''And you killed one more king...''

Several times he turned his sword in his gut, making him agonize for all that he had done to Cerei, although it was not directly against his will. And, suddenly, he took the blade from his body, and walked away, staggering in the water, towards the castle, and its subterranean chambers, but still hearing Euron raving aloud as he passed away, half-lying on the rocks.

''But I got you ! I got you !''

_''I'm the man who killed Jaime Lannister !''_

* * *

_**Let it all burn all around us...** _

* * *

The atmosphere was stifling. The air stank of burning, ashes and dust made it heavy, making it difficult to breathe. It smelled of death, desolation, destruction.

The minutes seemed interminable to him. Jaime had walked through destroyed or burned rooms, through corridors that were missing much of the roof, or all of it, leaving the sky greyish, cloudy and full of ashes. He had climbed stairs half collapsed, and he had not always found her.

He was seriously beginning to wonder if he would find Cersei alive. If he didn't, and the Unsullied found him, Daenerys wouldn't even need to bother executing him. He'd be long dead now.

With his good hand on his wound, to keep as much blood from spilling as possible, Jaime arrived at the heart of the castle, in the room where Cersei had had the map of Westeros painted on the floor. Breathless from his run, he leaned against one of the many pillars with his eyes closes.

Then, when he reopenend them, he saw her.

She was turning her back on him, standing, uncovered, in the middle of the room. Even with the infernal sounds of falling rocks, he heard her breathing jerking, and understood that she was in the middle of a panic attack.

As if she had felt his gaze on her, Cersei turned around and saw him in turn. She didn't know if she was dreaming, if she was already dead and so was he, or if fear was making her delirious. It didn't matter. He was _here_. Jaime, _her_ Jaime was here. Her knight. He had come back to her. He wasn't a knight at all, at the moment, cocked up, out of breath, a shaggy beard covering his face, his clothing dirty, torn, stained. But that didn't matter either. He was with her, even if it was in a dream, even if its was in heaven or the seven hells, or if it was real. And Cersei let out a sob. Of fear. Of relief. Of despair. Of happiness.

Terror had turned her legs to ice blocks. How ironic, when it was fire that dominated, that penetrated the clouds and the walls. She couldn't move forward. So she did the only thing her frightened body would allo her to do. She reached out her arms.

Jaime's heart broke a little more at the moment. Seeing Cersei, who had always a force of nature, so helpless, so frightened, hurt him, hit him far deeper than the sword that had lacerated his body could have reached. And when she finally broke down, starting to cry and to stretch out her arms towards him, almost by automatism, as if his body had been made to meet the needs of her. And now, she needed him. She needed him to take her in his arms, to hold her tight, as if they were the only ones that existed, that mattered. She needed him to comfort her, to make her feel loved.

When she felt his two arms wrapped around her and she gave him back his embrace, hugging him as tightly as she could, clinging to him, she felt more at home than she had felt in all the months that had just passed at the Red Keep while he was away. He had come for her. There she was safe, safer than she could ever be anywhere else.

Jaime buried his head in the hollow of her neck, breathing in her delicate scent of lavender, still perceptible despite the dust that covered she. He caressed her fine golden hair, smelling it through his fingers even his glove on as he dipped his good hand into it, rocking her head, as if this small gesture would have been enough to protect her from the world collapsing around them. And from the way Cersei huddled in his touch, he knew she felt the same way.

They stayed like this, motionless, melted into each other's embrace, together, unaware of the time passing, as if it had stopped at the moment their eyes met. None of them had spoken. They didn't need to. They were doing better than talking. They understood. All could burn around them, it didn't matter.

After what could have been seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, years, even seasons, Cersei stepped back, feeling a warm liquid on her hands. She looked into his eyes, emerald against emerald, her beautiful pale face bathed in tears. Then her gaze turned to Jaime's belly, from which still flowed the blood of the wound caused by Euron.

''You're hurt...''

''Doesn't matter.''

And it was true. Doesn't matter. He had found her. He had found her alive and well, safe and sound, even if it meant she was really scared. And he was going to get her out of there. They were going yo get out together, and they were going to run away together to live together, with their baby, away from King's Landing, Casterly Rock, Dragonstone and Winterfell, away from vultures and wolves and dragons.

''You're bleeding...''

It was true too. Now that nothing could stop the bleeding, the scarlet fluid dripped freely. Cersei took her hands out, red, stickly, and looked at them, as if she felt guilty for the wound he'd sustained when he'd come back to her , as if she felt guilty for having his blood on her hands.

She looked him in eyes again, and Jaime could read into hers, as only he always could, the fear, the sadness, the worry. But he was interrupted in his reading, in his observation, by a huge boulder that fell just a few meters from them, destroying the ground, cracking it when it came crashing down on it. And Jaime suddenly remembered, having forgotten for a brief moment, obesessed in his contemplation, the reason for his coming here.

Death hung over them. They had to leave the Red Keep as soon as possible, and flee. The only thing Jaime hoped was that Cersei would still have enough faith in him to follow him where he would lead her. That she would still trust him enough ton know that the only thing that mattered to him were her life and her safety. Her own, and that of their unborn little lion cub.

So he brought her closer to him, putting his right arm around her waist, holding her as tightly as he could without hurting her or himself more, giving her his good hand to hold, and stepping forward to see if she followed him. He didn't know what he would do if she wouldn't or couldn't.

Fortunately, Cersei, who had understood that he was here for her, that he had come back for her, that he had fought and hurt for her, decided that she could give him a second chance. He was her twin, her other half, _of course_ she trust him with her life. So she let him wrap his arm around her, grabbed his flesh hand with both hands, and took one step, then two, then three, still glued to him, and let him drag into the bowels of the Red Keep.

* * *

_**Let the cruel consume the just...** _

* * *

The castle was falling more and more into ruins every second.

Jaime realized this as he progressed into the depths of the Red Keep, dragging Cersei behind him, still clinging to his left hand.

The ceilings had collapsed, the stairs and the walls too. The windows had exploded, leaving shards of glass everywhere. Stones lay on the cracked and burnt floor, and they had to walk on them or step over them to get through, wasting precious time.

Cersei was very tense, Jaime could feel it in the way she held his hand. He realised this was the first time she'd ever been in such great danger of death. He had faced this danger countless times before, with all the battles he'd been in and led, he was on the front lines. But Cersei, never.

She was trembling with fear. She kept looking all around her, the streaks of her tears shining on her cheeks. She hesitated in her steps, not paying attention, not being able to concentrate on where she was putting her feet, frequently stumbling of stones that she could have easily avoided. She would let herself be dragged along the corridors, following Jaime, but it would not be her who would take the lead. Not this time.

Until the fateful sound was heard.

A roar. A roar from a dragon.

It passed right over their heads.

Jaime felt Cersei stop dead behind him. He turned around and saw her looking all around her. She was staring intently at the ceiling, as if she was afraid it would collapse on them, which could potentially happen at any moment, now the dragon was circling over them. New tears streamed from her eyes in silence.

Jaime pulled her gently by the hand, urging her to move forwaard, but she didn't move, still petrified with fear.

''Come on love, we've got to keep moving if we're going to get out of here.''

Even after told her this, she didn't move an inch, continuing her examination of the arches above their heads.

Time was passing. A more than precious time, which could save their lives, but which could also cost them, if they let it slip through their fingers. But Cersei still didn't make another move.

''Please Cersei, I beg you, come with me, we must leave as soon as possible, if we don't want to end up like all those people outside.''

At these words, she started crying. Jaime walked towards her and took her in his arms, kissing her on the temple, still holding her hand, rocking back and forth gently, like their mother had done when they were younger.

''It's all right, my sweet, it's alright. It's gonna be alright, love. It's gonna be alright. We're going to get out of here, I promise you, sweet heart, but you have to come. Trust me, and I swear I'm gonna get you out of this hellhole. We're both gonna get out of here, and we're both gonna leave this city.''

Cersei nodded her head, her sobs calming, her breathing becoming slower and more regular. Jaime kept his right arm around her shoulders, left hand in his right hand, rubbing soothing circles with his thumb on the back of her hand, and again pulled her gently with him. But this time, not without hesitation, she followed him.

They had managed to reach the spiral staircase that led to the underground passages that Jaime had taken earlier, but found the passage blocked by a pile of stones. They couldn't get through. After crossing half of the castle, they found themselves trapped.

When Jaime had an idea.

He pulled Cersei more and more, dragging her running this time into the Tower of the Hand, which had remained miraculously intact, in the apartments that had long been occupied by their father, and which had been, after him, those of Qyburn. He could see that Cersei didn't understand his plan, but she trusted him, and he was determined to reach the underground of the castle.

He opened the door to the apartments of the Hand of the King, or, in this case, of the Queen. They entered the room, where there was a strange perfume. Jaime searched for the back door, which he knew Tyrion had used when he was escaping from the castle, but had come to kill Tywin.

Finally, he found it behind a curtain, between two walls. He opened it, revealing a narrow and rather low passage in the ceiling, but fortunately intact too. He stooped down and went inside, taking only a few steps, and then stopped, to see if Cersei had imitated him.

Indeed, Cersei had followed him, and Jaime giving her an encouraging smile, brought her as close as possible to him, to show her that he was there for her, _with_ her, no matter what. They hurried along, rushing through the passage, which snaked through the still standing walls of the castle, into the dungeons.

Upon their arrival in the depths of the cells beneath the Red Keep, Jaime could see the emerging understanding in Cersei's tear-filled green eyes. She had finally understood how Tyrion had been able to enter their father's chamber unnoticed, completely unnoticed. And then she looked at Jaime again, as if, somehow, she had sensed that it was he who had freed their brother, indirectly killing Lord Tywin. She looked at him intensely, as if she was looking for the slightest sign from him.

Then he nodded, silently. But Cersei said nothing. As if, deep inside her, she also knew that somehow, it was because of Tyrion that Jaime had come to get her. Though they never got along, Tyrion had always loved his nephews and niece, even Joffrey once, and wouldn't tolerate harm to come to them if he could stop it. But even though Myrcella and Tommen were dead, he knew that she was pregnant.

He knew that she and Jaime were expecting again. He knew, even without either of them telling him. He knew it just by looking at her. The way she unconsciously placed a protective hand on her belly, as if her five thin pale fingers would have been enough to protect the little lion cub growing there safely drom all the dangers of the world. And she also knew, deep down inside, that Tyrion had tried to convince Daenerys to let her live just for the baby, innocent of his mother and father's crimes. As he begged her to surrender, to retire from the Iron Throne, just so that this baby could live.

Maybe if Cersei had listened to him, they wouldn't be running, she and Jaime, for their lives in the depths of this castle. But maybe if Cersei had listened to him, she never sould have seen her twin brother again.

* * *

**_Let the sin we swim in drown us..._ **

* * *

They had reached the underground.

They were out of breath after running all the way down the secret passage, which had led to another small spirale staircase, finally ending in the basement where the dragon skulls had been stored.

Panting, coughing because of the dust that was overloading the air, they had just set foot on the underground's ground that Jaime was pulling Cersei again, pressing her, forcing her to run again.

''This way.''

Cersei was worried. She hadn't delt the baby move for a while, and she was beginning to seriously question his health. But she was squickly reassured by a slight kick to her left rib. The baby was fine. Or, at least, he was alive, and strong enough to manifest himself.

This little signal eased her anxieties. If her little cub was well, it was that everything she had done in recent months had not been in vain.

Everything Cersei had ever done was for her children. For their life and safety, she would have killed, she would have die, she would have killd herself, she would have burned in the flames of the seven hells. And yet they were all dead. All of them. Her first son, killed by a disease. Joffrey, killed by Olenna Tyrell. Myrcella, killed by Ellaria Sand. Tommen, killed because she thinking she was protecting him, and she hurt him more deeply than she could ever have imagined. And this baby.

This baby had been a great surprise, a blessing, a true gift from the gods. Despite her failure with her first four children, this little one offered her a new chance. And she vowed to protect him, no matter what. She desperately wanted her little cub to see the sun, no matter what. She had loved and cherished him from the moment she knew that a new life was growing inside her, each day, closer to her end made her a little happier, to know that she would soon meet one of the five most beautiful accomplishments of her life. One of the four fruit of her love with her brother, whom she never thought she would see again at the time, thinking he was dead, either at the hands of the White Walkers or Bronn.

And now there she was, running with Jaime for her life, for their lives. For their three lives. For their freedom. That thought gave her some hope, as they approached the creek. The closer they got, the more Cersei could caress with her fingertips the perspective of a new life with Jaime, and their son or daughter. A life where they would be no one, a life where they would be free to be in love. Free to be happy.

They were moving towards the opening. Jaime was becoming more and more euphoric, feeling closer and closer to the exit, to the life he had always dreamed of. He was going to be able live with Cersei, free to live as husband and wife, with theur little ray of sunshine. Without the Iron Throne, without Casterly Rock, without the Red Keep. Without their father, without the Lannisters. Without the Starks, without the Targaryens, without the Tyrells, without the Martells. Without the wolves, without the dragons, without the roses and the spears and the suns, without the kraken. Without the fire, without the ice. _Only them_.

But his thought was soon banished from his mind at the vision appeared to them.

The exit was blocked. Blocked by piles of rubble, stones and shards of dragon bones.

They were stuck. All the exits were sealed off. They were going to die here.

A stone rolled to the ground.

Jaime's first reflex was to rush to the least blocked opening and climb the mountain created by the falling rocks to try to clear the entrance.

Cersei, on the other hand, had remained behind, contemplating the pile of stones, refusing to believe what was inexorably going to happen.

''I want our baby to live...''

There was a sound of a rockslide above them.

''I want our baby to live...''

She turned around to see stones beginning to fall from the vaults, nodding her head for herself.

Jaime turned, to see Cersei, bursting into tears, turning her back on him.

He rushed towards her.

''I want our baby to live...''

He took her in his arms as she cracked.

''Don't let me die, Jaime, please, don't let me die. Please don't let me die...''

Tears rolled down her reddened cheeks, and he pressed his forehead against her temple, trying to calm her down.

''It's all right, it's all right...''

''I don't want to die...''

He held her to his chest, kissing her in her hair, on her temple, as more and more stones fell around them, as more and more the world fell around them. He tried to make her look into his eyes, caressing the back of her head, as he continued to hug her.

''Look at me... Look at me...''

Anxious, she did not listen to him, pursuing her litany, totally distraught, her face stained with tears, her voice trembling.

''Not like this... Not like this, no...''

Still speaking softly to her, he continued to try to not let her look around, to oblige her look at him.

''Look, look, look me in eyes...''

For a split second she looked into his eyes, where he could see all the despair, all the fear, that no one could ever have imagined to see in Cersei Lannister's eyes. Then she looked away again.

''Not like this...''

Raising his voice, he grabbed her face with his golden hand and his hand of flesh, gently but firmly.

''Don't look away, don't look... LOOK AT ME !''

He finally forced her to face him, emerald against emerald, again.

''Just look at me...''

Knowing now that he could do nothing more to save them, he had only one objective : to make Cersei's last moments more pleasant, the only person in the world he had loved than he could ever loved himself, his soul mate, his other half, to make her feel loved and protected until the end. Until her end. Until _their_ end. Together, as it was always meant to be.

With his left hand still on her face, he tenderly wiped away the tears that continued to flow with his thumb, as she finally looked at him, her eyes bathed in tears, her lips trembling, as she continued to sob and cling to him.

''Nothing else matters...''

Cersei's breathing was always jerky when he uttered his last words in this world. They had never needed words, but that mantra had been the leitmotif of their entire lives.

''Nothing else matters... Only us...''

Jaime continued to caress Cersei's cheek and she finally relaxed. He smiled at her, a smile that she had always been the only one to see, a smile of pure adoration, and gently nodded, placing in forehead against hers, his nose against hers, knowing that it would also be the last time he would see her, if there was no afterlife.

As the vaults collapsed a few meters from them, Cersei threw herself into his arms. He hugged her as he had never hugged her before, with strength and love, as if he could keep the world from falling down on them, his arm with the golden hand around her, his other hand gently rocking her head, rubbing soothing circles on her neck with this fingers, as she clung with her right hand to the arm wrapped around her head, burying her face in his chest, closing her eyes, and breathing in her familiar scent. Jaime did the same, leaning lightly on her head, on her golden hair, breathing in her lavender soap and anotber indescribable scent, but which smelled like paradise to him. Which smelled like home.

And he closed his eyes when everything went black around them. _Only them_.

* * *

_**Let the world shatter into dust** _

_**Nothing else matters; only us** _

* * *

King's Landing was black, as he walked through the streets of the city.

Burned, still smoking, charred corpses piling up in the streets.

The corpses of people who had seen death coming from the sky.

The corpses of people who had seen Daenerys arrive from the sky, bringing fire, blood and ashes, she who had promised them harmony, freedom and peace.

And he was foolish enough to believe her. Why shouldn't the Mad King's daughter be like her father ? Because he, Tyrion, wasn't like his own ?

Jaime had told him, when he went to free him from the cell in which the Unsullied had locked him up, that Cersei had called him the stupidest of the Lannisters.

She was wrong. Jaime wasn't the stupidest Lannister.

Tyrion was.

He thought he was clever, clairvoyant enough to see that Daenerys had nothing to do with Aerys. That she wasn't mad.

They all thought they were smart. Jon Snow and him and the others. And they were all wrong. But it was innocent people who paid the price. Everyone in King's Landing. Everyone who burned.

Tyrion, because of his stupidity, allowed a massacre to happen. When that was all he wanted to avoid. 

He had always thought that if the city ended up being massacred, it would be because of Cersei. He was wrong, once again. The bells had rung, but it was Daenerys, his queen, the queen he had chosen, who had massacred the city.

She had decimated the people she had come to save.

As Tyrion progressed through the charred streets of King's Landing, he had a bad premonition growing inside him. 

In the distance, what was left of the Red Keep stood on Aegon Hill. It was practically destroyed. Hardly anything was left of it. Of the structure, only a few towers remained standing, which had lost their appearance, looking like mounds of stones, ashes and dust. Like everything else.

Arriving at the foot of the castle, he saw the corner of the eye Grey Worm, who was about to execute the rest of the Lannister troops, and Jon Snow and Davos Seaworth trying to dissuade him from doing so. He just passed by, continuing on his way to the Red Keep. In any case, he was no match for Grey Worm to deter him from anything.

After passing through corridors and rooms that were totally unrecognisable even to him, who had known the castle almost by heart, he reached the patio where the map of Westeros was painted on the floor.

The map almost completely disappeared under the rubble. The only thing that indicated it was definitely in that patio was the shades of cerulean blue and green that were showing through the dust. 

He walked through what was left of what had once been the Small Council chamber. Surprisingly, the chairs and table had remained in place, as they had when Joffrey was king and presided over this council as Lord Tywin's deputy.

It was a twinge in Tyrion's heart to think of that time. That was before. Before Daenerys, before Jon Snow. Before the dragons, before the White Walkers. Before winter, before spring. Before fire, before ice. 

Then he arrived in what was left of Cersei's office. The office where they had had their last real conversation, if you could call it a conversation. When he'd found out she was pregnant. When she had almost ordered Ser Gregor to kill him, but not having the courage or the strength or the desire to utter the fateful phrase. Perhaps she should have done so. At least Tyrion wouldn't feel at that moment the immense guilt and uneasiness that was growing deep inside him, as he couldn't help but feel responsible for the carnage caused by Daenerys, and the thousands of deaths that went along with it.

Books were lying around, some torn, some not. The bronze Lannister emblem, which stood proudly behind the chair usually occupied by Cersei, had fallen off. A symbol of Lannister defeat.

Tyrion found a torch, extinguished, fallen to the ground. He hesitated.

He could go down into the underground and see if Jaime and Cersei had managed to reach the canoe. He really wanted to believe that his brother and sister, beautiful golden fools, were already sailing to Pentos to have happy days with their baby. They deserved it.

But part of him couldn't help but really want to know if they were gone. And it was that part of him that got the better of the rest. So he grabbed the torch, and he lit it.

Most of the stairs leading under the castle were blocked by rubble. However, he found one, only one, which was not, and took it. When he got to the bottom, he noticed that the exit was blocked, and so was the exit. Nevertheless, the stones had not reached the top, and, climbing carefully, managed to make his way through, narrow but still allowing him to pass. At the top of the heap he threw the torch down, and began the steep descent. 

Once downstairs, he took the torch to light the large room where the dragon skulls were kept.

The room was practically full of stones that had fallen from the vaults, which now let the daylight through after they had fallen. This was enough to heighten the deep sense of unease that had plagued Tyrion since he had passed through the gates of King's Landing.

He went on, approaching the exit, which he knew well, and which he had indicated to his brother.

When he saw it.

At first, he didn't really pay much attention. A simple golden reflection, which he thought was the result of his imagination corrupted by the horror scenes he had just seen pass before his eyes, each one more appalling than the next. 

But when the reflection continued to impose itself on his eyes, he decided to look more closely.

A sheen of gold. Casterly Rock gold, Lannister gold.

A hand of gold.

A hand of gold, which he knew all too well. 

Jaime's hand of gold.

He refused to believe it. Jaime must have taken it off, lost it. Maybe he took it off to make it look like he was dead, or to avoid being recognized. Getting caught by the Unsullied because of it must have taught him a lesson. 

Nevertheless, without him being able to hold it back, a tear fell on Tyrion's cheek.

Because, deep down, he knew. Maybe he knew this all along. Ever since he entered the Red Keep. Since he'd entered King's Landing.

He knew this room was where Jaime saw his last hour coming. 

This mere thought was enough to bring new tears from his eyes, he who had hardly ever cried, for he had been taught that crying was for the weak, and that Lannisters were not weak. They were Lions of the Rock. And lions don't cry.

Wishing to see his brother's face one last time, he began to lift the stones.

Until his hand came into contact with a cold but soft surface, even though it was covered with dust and sticky liquid.

He removed the enormous stone from this surface, discovering something he never thought capable of affecting it so much. 

Cersei's fine features were bleached by dust, making her skin even more diaphanous than life, the ghosts of her last tears still running down her cheeks, accompanied by streaks of blood flowing from the wounds caused by falling stones.

His tears having now turned into sobs, he continued to clear the rubble, to finally discover his brother, embraced with his sister, almost covering her with his body, as if he wanted to protect her, even in death. 

Tyrion couldn't contain the guilt that was devouring him, now that he had discovered the bodies of Jaime and Cersei. It was his fault they were there. It was his fault, he was the one who had told Jaime to take Cersei and run away through here. He was the one who lured them here. He was the one who brought them to death's door.

He had always waited for the moment when Cersei would die, and when he would triumph over him, for he would still be alive. The day he finally won. _A day when you think you're happy and safe, your joy will turn to ashes in your mouth._ That's what he said to her. She would have had everything she needed to be happy. Jaime had come back to her, because she was the person he really loved, whom he loved more than anything. They were going to have a baby, a new chance, after everything that had happened to them. She was going to be safe in Pentos, with Jaime. But her joy had turned to ashes in her mouth the moment Daenerys arrived at King's Landing with his armies and his dragon, supported and advised by Tyrion. 

But what he didn't know, when he had told him this, was that the joy of having the good Queen, the one who was going to change everything, had even gotten the position of Queen's Hand. He had everything he had ever dreamed of. 

And yet this joy had taken on an ashen taste in his mouth, just as Daenerys had begun to burn down King's Landing. And now that he stood there before his dead brother and sister, and was the last Lannister, the rightful heir of Casterly Rock, it tasted of blood. 

And Jaime. Jaime, the only Lannister who had any regard or scorn for him. His brother, whom he'd killed as much as he'd killed his sister. If Cersei's death had broken his heart, more than he ever thought it would, both for her and for the little lion cub inside her that would never see the sun, what Jaime's death did to him was indescribable. 

At this thought, he tapped the stones at his feet with all his strength with the one he was holding in his hand. Full of rage, full of sadness, full of despair.

When he said goodbye to his brother just before he set him free, he knew he would never see him again.

But he thought it would be because he would be on another continent, far away, and going to see him would attract too much suspicion. He never thought it would be because a few hours later, Jaime would die with Cersei in his arms, as he had always wanted. 

Tyrion, when he was a teenager, once asked Jaime how he wanted to die. And Jaime told him he wanted to die in the arms of the woman he loved.

_In the arms of the woman he loved._

When he looked again at his brother and sister, intertwined, cursed lovers, he knew that Jaime's wish had come true, just the way Jaime had his arms wrapped around Cersei. 

Jaime and Cersei. Cersei and Jaime.

As it was always meant to be.

Tyrion felt that even through death, even without a word, they understood each other. They always did.

People had never tolerated that. That Cersei and Jaime Lannister could understand each other only by looking at each other, when they needed something as paltry as words to do so. So they condemned him. They had condemned the most important thing there was. They had condemned the fact that, beyond the blood ties that united them, they were above all two people who loved, understood and cherished each other. People had only retained and condemned the fact that they were from the same father and the same mother, even though they had shared a womb that had united them forever.

They were always meant to be together. They were one soul in two bodies, two halves of the same person, one entity, one human being, one spirit. They had been linked before birth, long before Cersei was born, with Jaime already clinging to her, holding her foot.

But history would never take that away from them. It would only remember what they had been each in their own way, Kingslayer, Mad Queen, Mad Queen, Kingslayer, incestuous lovers; a pure heresy, for them, which should never have been considered separately, but always together.

And now the only thing Tyrion could want was that if we went somewhere after death, Jaime and Cersei would be there with Joffrey, Myrcella, Tommen and the little one who would be forever trapped in his mother's womb. Only them, and their children, together, happy and in love, as they should have been in life.

* * *

_**They say that the world was built for two...** _

* * *

_And so they spoke, and so they spoke,_

_These lovers of Casterly,_

_But now the stones fell o'er their halls,_

_With their brother to see,_

_Yes, now the stones fell o'er their halls,_

_With just one soul to hear._

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Please take the time to leave a short comment, it's always a pleasure. Don't be too hard on my English, it's not my mother tongue.


End file.
